mckenzie teter

I. Cracked

I planted tomatoes to prove that I could care
For something other than myself.
I practiced affection through research
And learned that water and warmth are essential
And compost is a good apology after weekends
Out of town. I drilled holes in terra-cotta
So they could leak, cry, after the rain.
Ten parts water, one part dish soap
For keeping bugs away.

The stalks grew tall, spiraled themselves
Around wood stakes. Bloomed small stars
That should have birthed green marbles.
I was attentive and careful just for
All my efforts to be cracked in a storm.

II. Collection

I gathered the buds that would never be.
Less than two hands cupped— What to do
With the little that is left? Not quite ripe enough
For salad. Not enough to be diced into salsa
Or smashed into sauce. Not enough.
Under the stream of the sink, they wept away dirt.
Glossy little eyes that I lined on the ledge of the
Kitchen window— Round lighthouses ready for the next storm.
I gathered the stalks, fairytale ladders that never
Reached giants, and attempted to propagate.
Placed them next to their bases and admired
How clean a break could be. Place in a jar of water,
Refresh daily, and full sun. Wait ten days
For roots to appear, replant. Wait, Wait, Wait.

III. Care

For Grace

My hands the same of those attempting to adjust a ship
Inside a bottle; tender and calculated.
Pruning, they call it— removing the unnecessary
To promote growth. Removing the small problems
That thrive between two parts. I have never
Saved anything before. My heart sinking every time
Clouds loomed above the yard like a bully
In a hallway— knowing their own strength, taunting.

But the plants grew like children, small one day
But overnight, as if by magic, so much bigger.
That summer produced baskets of cherry-sized
Accomplishments. I asked the tomatoes if
They were proud of me. They didn't respond
But they did blush red after a few days.